OPEN FIRE BEFORE HE CAN SPEAK

Arrogance flows in your veins,
The trust and regard thrust upon you
Drives me nearly insane,
I’d like to take away
What was bestowed by
Red-stained hands,
Turn it on your brain,
Epitome of what a crooked culture
Managed by a bunch of vultures
Considers to be a man,
Need to see your jugular drain,
Pride of everyone’s town,
Lauded by even those
That should hate your guts,
In your deranged attitude
Your family drowns,
Hard-on for dealing abuse,
More than those you kill
For dealing your drugs,
The country’s biggest supply of ignorant thugs,
We remember what you did in Texas,
I recall, too, what you did in Philly,
Go into a hood or trailer park,
Beat down and rape those shoved into the dark,
Trusting you seems more than a little fucking silly!

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YOU SOLD YOUR SOUL (WHAT’S THE COST)

It’s a matter of fact that I’m going to snap,
Leave it all behind and vanish
Deep into the middle of the night,
Never to return; why the fuck should I?
You’re already aware that I can’t hack it,
Pointing it out like I don’t know,
The only difference is I’m gonna embrace
It on one of these dreary days,
Just uproot altogether and go!
Weeks are long, months are
Eternities; I miss those spaced out so far,
Since I feel closer to them, those that
Understand; your attempts to know me
Have fallen hilariously flat!
As I write, I’m making my peace with this
Decision I’ll have to make and keep,
I won’t say goodbye the hour I leave,
Just a note and a room full of memories!
My eyes water as I await more grueling months,
Yet I assure myself I just gotta suffer a bit more,
Then after this last slog, I can run away and be done…

YOU WON’T LET YOUR CONSCIENCE SEE

Murder minded,
Stomach turned into
A cemetery,
Intestinal tract is
Where they’re all
Fucking buried,
The mere thought of
Giving it up, to you,
Seems so fucking scary!

Your appetite is
Built upon genocide,
Lacking any discipline; just
Consume whether it’s grilled or fried,
Not brave to consider the families
Rotting away inside of your gut,
And you scowl at this mention,
Too neck-deep in the mud to
Give a fuck!

Walking graveyard
Sustained by death,
To live you must steal
All of their breaths,
How you salivate at the
Blood on your plate,
More and more is all you crave,
Needing constant murder to satiate!

Don’t preach shit to me
About liberty,
Yammering about oppression
When you demand that
They shouldn’t be free,
I don’t wish to hear it,
Excuse after excuse,
Championing control,
Perpetuator of woe,
Enjoying the abuse!

Such a fucking man…

Look at all that crimson on your hands…

HERE’S WHAT WAS INSIDE

I’m tired of having to placate
And dance around your sorry ass,
This is now, motherfucker,
Not a century ago,
You’re living neck deep in the past!

But it wasn’t any good then,
It damn sure wasn’t,
Give it another go again,
Smash apart all your so-called friends,
Well then be my guest; I’ll watch from the sidelines,
Laughing and shrugging!

You’re nothing but soldier boys
Who march up and down in unison,
Don’t bother me with your idiotic noise
About how you’re supposedly different!

Maybe I’ll put my boot in your face
To shut you up for good,
Always eager to invade every space
Only to leave behind trails of misery and scorched wood!

I’m a traitor, a proud infidel,
A heretic of the worst kind,
Hocking a loogie in your face
While you accuse me of slander and libel…

WE’RE FLYING HIGH (WE’RE WATCHING THE WORLD PASS US BY)

If there’s one thing I cannot stand…it’s a lack of creativity, a lack of originality. And if there’s something else I cannot stand, is uniformity. Where are both found? In things concocted for the purposes of massification and machinification, which are always ruthlessly and violently imposed. Because if order isn’t there to be found, then anarchy reigns. Ergo, a lack of control, a lack of a grasp on what would otherwise organically develop without outside influence, a lack of things meddled with, corralled and coerced about as a result of some jackass having “a vision”.

Perhaps where this phenomenon of boring predictability manufactured to keep dullards happy and outcasts, dreamers of the dark and dangerous, sidelined, is most obvious (for those who are just entering the realm of what is dubbed “radical thought”, anyway) and therefore most glaring, most ripe for vicious and savage critiqur, is in regards to most of humanity’s views on gender and sexuality.

Cisgendered, heterosexual society and its standards serve to impose a bland, levelling, conformist, dull, unimaginative mode of existence upon everyone and everything, and despite what its root word, “hetero”, implying difference, may say, it in fact loathes any kind of sexuality or gendered/non-gendered feelings, practices, or experiences that lie outside of its all-too-arrogant norm, proudly proclaiming itself, in the vein of the Abrahamic father who spawned this accursed thing, to be the one truth, the one universal definition of “correct”, “just”, “righteous”, “moral”, etc. Many of those caught in the trap laid by swindlers who constructed the foundations for this disgrace long ago will balk at these notions, saying that it’s all nonsensical ramblings, that it’s really the gays that wish to make everything all the same, and that heterosexuality and being cisgendered are the norm because that is just the way things are, unable to picture much else outside of the stifling reality that has suffocated their minds and hearts from birth, too vapid to even make the attempt to break out of the mold.

Where heterosexuality and cisgendered ideals have really just one option, one supposedly “right” way to live, one possibility, queerness is infinity. It is chaos, a boundless array of possibilities. It can be everything and nothing (I mean these two in the most literal sense), as well as everything in between. It is unbound and unchained, broken loose from all of the fragile fetters that were born from the brains of those frightened by the reality of how things really are (namely, unknowable and unnamable lawlesslessness, pandemonium). Obviously, this conflicts quite heavily with this marauding monster called civilization, which parades around like an abusive, meatheaded drunkard, bashing, maiming, screaming, eating, and crushing everything that dares step in front of its path. Civilization desires, nay, requires, order. It is aroused most fervently by the squashing of dissent, of the fearsome other. Oh, how it shirks in terror at the mere prospect of an other. And so, it must root out any possibility of an other existing to begin with. For an other shows that it is failing, that it can’t ever succeed, and will remain a utopian pipedream for all time.

How dreadful this is, to Leviathan.

Of course, chaos is useless to civilization. All chaos does is seek to break it up, to wither it away, keep it from ever fulfilling its wishes. For chaos is natural, and civilization is very much not natural. Civilization can’t utilize chaos, because chaos, by definition, isn’t able to be bottled up and leashed. It’s never ending, always changing, forever thrashing around and escaping through whatever containment trying to box it in, leaking out and pouring out.

Now, you may ask, what does this have to do with queerness? Dear reader, it’s very simple: queerness, being chaotic, is not at all able to be reconciled with the squarely utilitarian, efficiency-minded mentality of civilization and its supporters. Cisgendered, heterosexual norms serve to keep civilization going, to keep it upright, instead of causing it to fall apart. These two things maintain order and growth, more so when they are actively propagated. Fostering progress, advancement, linear, upward development, and bolster economic activity, property, the circulation and continuation of money, etc. Queerness, if anything, actively rebels against growth and order, especially since (forgive me for stressing this part so much and repeating it) it is chaotic. Makes sense as to why civilization, since its very incarnation, has always been against the queers.

And if the pinnacle of civilization is to be found in the teachings of Jehovah/Yahweh/Allah, which is also, coincidentally (or maybe not coincidentally), a deity that champions heterosexuality and being cis, as well as law and order, progress (called millenarianism/the end of history), mercantilism, economic absurdities, and all kinds of nonsense, then it becomes all too apparent in my eyes why being queer is associated with Lucifer/Satan, the devil, deviancy and insurrection against Jesus and the cop-angels of Heaven.

Something I think queers should actively embrace.

Does it sound conspiratorially minded? A bit kooky, a bit strange? Yeah, I wouldn’t disagree.

But if one really thinks about it…

Am I wrong?

LURKING IN THE DARK AT NIGHT

Now I ain’t gonna bullshit you
And tell you shit ain’t bad!

That a better tomorrow’s right up ahead,
So don’t be so down and sad!

Look outside, look all around,
Gaze upon this sorry state of affairs,
Can you look me in the eye without a hint of deceit and
Honestly tell me you aren’t scared?

Hope! O’ how I wish I could,
But I’d have better luck at the end of a rope!
Woe! Does hope, even the smallest chance, do me good
As the suffocating reality starts to constrict and choke?

Death is always grinning
Just around the corner,
Perhaps as a friend or a foe…

Cheerfully waving from its position,
That old and frightful, mysterious,
Enigmatic bringer of both chaos and order,
Idly standing by, head tilted to the side,
Waiting for our only chance to be forever blown…

Point is, things are looking rough,
So hard to try and remain tough,
You’d rather give up and die!

Don’t let em win,
No matter how hard they
Wear you thin,
I’d say it’s still worth a try!

Any act of rebellion, no matter
How grandiose or how small,
Will serve to make you that much
More free from the chains that
Bind you and me, so do yourself, not
I or anyone else a favor; heed that urging call
To use your fists, and in any way you can,
Cause the system to become beaten and battered…

Push back, whether it be
Internally, via the spirit,
Or outside, with words and fists,
As you’re set into overdrive,
Due for a meltdown, reaching a limit,
Let ‘em know how much you’re fucking pissed…

Forget hope, forget any kind of future
Promised by crimson swindlers and
Apathetic, unimaginative losers!

Do what thou wilt, seize the smallest chance!

Devils we are, devils we’ll always be, so let’s do a devilish dance!

THEY ASKED WHERE I’M FROM (WHERE I’VE BEEN, WHERE I’M GOING)

I’m the one in your alleyways
Hanging out by your garbage cans,
Scavenging for what’s left as I
Figure out how I’m going to
Slip away once again so as
Not to meet the gaze of prying eyes…

I’m the one rummaging through
The dumpsters you don’t
Watch, digging around while
You sleep away the darkest
Hours, hiding so many secrets
Under a veil of dark…

I’m the one you glare at
Whilst I walk alone on the streets
At sundown, awkwardly fixated on
Because I’m dressed for weather
That’s as cold as I feel inside…

I’m the one who observes
From under a bridge surrounded by trees,
Listening to the hustle and bustle of your life,
Remembering when you screamed at me today
That I should strive for what you have…

I’m the one you want to catch and kill
Once you saw me out of the corner of your eye,
Getting away again with what you
Believe I shouldn’t’ve, cursing
Me as another scoundrel that
Society forgot to grind into dust…

I’m the one who doesn’t play along
When “more” comes into play,
Demanding why I didn’t put in,
Guilt tripping me as if my conscience would
Care that I wasn’t giving away more than
The absolute bare minimum…

I’m the one who hung out with the
Freaks and misfits you didn’t
Pay attention to as I spewed out
Everything you fear within their
Circles, cheering them on and
Welcoming them, feeling more alive and
Refreshed than I ever did when I was
But one of the fortunate ones…

I’m useless…

I’m hated…

And I’m goddamn proud…

THE WRATH OF THIS MAN

I hate everything that you fucking stand for,
The very embodiment of everything I abhor!

Claiming to know anything about this,
Always trying to hijack it, and it makes me goddamn pissed!

Don’t come here with your bullshit rhetoric,
Laughable nonsense about “blood and soil”!

How the gays and the blacks are evil,
And how we’ll be free through endless toil!

You, too, want to wrap the ligature around Her neck,
Pull hard on her already dying throat!

Contrary to your claims of the opposite,
We all know you, too, want to see Her croak!

Despiser of all things wild and free,
Nothing in common we have, you and me!

Perpetuator of the machine that chokes life itself,
Your desire is to drag all of us into a trap that leads straight into Hell!

I’ll grab that fucking rifle of yours, because to your heart,
A fatal blow must be viciously dealt!

Enemy of freedom, deluded by ghosts that haunt your head,
Taking aim against Nature, it’d be better if you were fucking dead!

PASS THE SHOVEL

Oh, it’s hungry.

So, so…hungry…

More, more…

Never…satisfied…

It suffers from the type of hunger which never goes away. A ceaseless, agonizing, relentless, unbearable hunger that can never, ever be satiated, no matter much is shoveled into its bottomless gullet. Each hour, of each day, it roars with a horrific roar that demands an unbearable amount of material be fed to it. Sacrificed, if you will. Those who do not meet its demands are…well, never heard from again. Perhaps they became outlaws, plotting to wage war against it, hiding either in plain sight or on the outskirts beyond the reach of the monster. Maybe…maybe they just…disappeared.

Forever.

What does it hunger for? Any and all things. The soil, the water, the minerals, the air, the sky itself. And it shits out distorted, warped, twisted, mangled versions of these things. Water as black as the air it breathes out from its lungs once it has begun digesting soil and what was contained in the soil, or the rock, obscuring the blue shield of our home in the process. Does the hunger cease? Don’t be silly. The hunger…never…ceases. Even if those who work for the damned thing wanted the hunger to cease, the accursed beast would still compel them to provide nutrients, sustenance. Its influence is all-consuming, ever-expanding, never-ending. Beckoning all whoever come into contact with it to serve its tyrannical interests with a demented, insane sort of selflessness. For it considers service towards its sickening ends to be virtuous. To be one of its subjects, is to be duty-bound to it…for life. A blood pact is made with it once you join up with it. You can never leave…ever.

You think it stops there, don’t you? You think that’s the end of the line?

Oh…oh you poor thing.

We’ve only just begun.

Subjects become the prey. Whoever greases the machine, is eventually bound to become swallowed by it. Churned up and crushed, grinded into bits of meat for it to enjoy, and, maybe, make something new out of it. After all, it’s always on the cutting edge. Innovation. Progress. Always inventing. Just don’t question where all this comes from. Don’t think about it. Blind yourself to the pools of blood on your hands, my dear. Forget about the maddening screams of the wailing ghosts of all the dead that float all around and grab at your ankles from below the ground. Anyway, if it doesn’t steal your flesh, then…then it’ll just steal your soul instead. If it can’t make you dead on the outside, it’ll make you dead inside. Young, old, it does not matter. Upper, lower, you become a slave to it all the same. Fucker or breeder (because those are the only two distinctions it makes between its subjects; those who fuck, and those who breed…those who make, and those who deliver), the hammer pounds upon you all the same. The gears whir their cackling, maddening whir whether you like it or not. No consent required om your end. It’d be silly to think it ever needed it…

Not to mention, all of the…victims, subjected to its insatiable whims. Packed in dozens deep. Cramped into conditions so squalid and miserable, that it makes those of the subjects seem like paradise. Never seeing the sun. Never seeing the sky. But, wait, the sun is blocked out by thick clouds of hateful, acrid smoke, and the sky is now tinged with a dingy, decrepit, dull color that makes one’s nose bleed and eyes burn. Whole families. Fathers conditioned to force themselves on what could’ve been mates, lovers, all for the sake of creating children who will later be turned into meals for the subjects, who know not where all of this comes from, and how it got onto their plates. Cut up, beaten, burned, tortured, flogged, raped…eaten. And those who partake in all this, well…they are the dead flesh walking. Zombies that talk and breathe. Their hearts stopped beating long ago…and the blood is now in their veins. Frosty, like fresh snow during a blizzard. The pupils of their eyes disappearing as they brutalize the victims in ways that are simply too tragic to describe. And…and those with roots…who come from the ground…just slaughtered en masse. Gotten rid of. Later repurposed, stoically and precisely, with chilling precision, into…into…well, useless things that will eventually be gotten rid of immediately. Their lives worth about minutes, perhaps even seconds, of attention, at most. Deprived of lives, of a chance to exist. Trampled underfoot by the marching of the iron heel. So rhythmic, so perfect…so, so disturbing…

The world becomes warped to how it desires existence itself to be. All shall be constructed as a large, concrete rectangle. This shall be the template of the future. Built upon the holy shape of the square, with constantly observed innards kept up with by frightened, starving, weary wastrels who see no other alternative to this den of putridity and nastiness. All hail the grid, all hail the foreman and the cameras he employs to make sure you keep his god alive (it is a god, it is a god, and we must kill the god…but how can we kill the god; is it even able to be killed…can we?). But the god doesn’t need us, does it? Even without our help, it’ll never be a broken god. It won’t allow itself to fall into disrepair, allow itself to go unmaintained and lose its power. See, the god is slowly gaining more and more of a foothold, and soon, the god will be here to stay. It won’t need us, or anything made of flesh, bone, blood, chlorophyll, wood, or leaves anymore. Not to keep it going. Feast? Oh, it shall definitely still feast. But it’ll invent new ways of making sure it survives, and thrives. Becoming autonomous in the process. A free machine. An unbound deity of nightmarish proportions.

Escape? Is that an option? Maybe now. Here and now, potentially. Hopefully (gah, hope, such a funny…funny thing…heh…). While it’s not entirely too late. But the window is closing, fast. Evade, outwit, distract. Get out while you still can. Or fight, fight however possible. No matter how small, no matter how fruitless. Buck against it, swing your fist, scream at it, damage it. Just do it, in whichever way you come across or think about, even. You will weaken the grip it has on you, loosen the mental and maybe even physical chains that bind you. Refuse, resist. Nothing will change, but freedom, liberation, will start to become known to you. Do what thou wilt, because that is the opposite of its law. Not its law. Never was. Do what it wills, yes.

This…

Ah, this…

It’s all thanks to you.

What? This is what you wanted…right?

Pay your dues to the devil you have created.

Yes, penance is not cheap…is it?

Can you hear it groaning for more? Aching for more? More, more it needs…

Wants…more…

Give it more…

Everything…even you, yes, you…

Now…

Do your duty…

Be good…be…

Good…